


Rain Check

by jarenshapadackllins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Destiel - Freeform, Light Angst, Like Barely Any Angst Sorry, M/M, Young Adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:18:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarenshapadackllins/pseuds/jarenshapadackllins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is invited to Hannah's 21st birthday party at the local bar. A bubbly, flirty-drunk Dean Winchester introduces himself and takes things a little faster than usual. Cas comes out of the bash with a little more knowledge about pool and an odd relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain Check

**Author's Note:**

> **THIS IS UNEDITED. I WILL EDIT IT WHEN I HAVE TIME.**  
>  This was just something I spat out under stress, so I'm sorry if it's a little awkwardly written at parts!

Castiel isn’t the biggest party animal and he would much rather spend a night in his apartment than get drunk on whatever is cheapest at the bar, so when he’s invited to Hannah’s twenty-first birthday bash at the bar down the street, he isn’t exactly pouncing at his phone to respond.

**Hannah:**

**_party. tonight. harvelle’s. be there or be square_ **

Just as Castiel is typing out the lamest – and most overused in the book – excuse of being sick, his phone dings with a new message:

                **Meg:**

**_ur going_**

No, he’s not. Parties make him antsy and Meg is well aware of that. Castiel types out a quick reply:

                **You:**

**_I’m not_.**

He tosses his phone aside, watching it bounce on the couch before settling between the armrest and cushion. It vibrates a few more times, but he ignores it in favor of the Harry Potter marathon on TV. Castiel had sat down during the middle of the Chamber of Secrets, but now the Half Blood Prince is starting and Castiel regrets nothing except not having enough popcorn.

Harry and Dumbledore had just gotten back to Hogwarts when someone begins pounding on Castiel’s door. He glances at the clock on the DVD player. It’s almost eleven.

With reluctance, Castiel stands and places the bowl of popcorn – now really just a bowl of kernels – on the coffee table before walking to the door. He checks himself quickly to assure that, yes, he is wearing pants.

Within seconds of the door being unlocked, Castiel staggers backwards as Meg forces the door open. She looks more or less unimpressed with him.

“Don’t tell me you’re wearing _that_ to the party,” she says incredulously as she takes a seat on the old couch. If pajamas aren’t enough of a hint to her that he didn’t plan on going out tonight, he doesn’t know what is.

“I told you, I’m not going,” Castiel shuts the door and takes his seat on the opposite side of the couch. He stares at the TV, though he can feel Meg’s deadly gaze on him.

“Yes, you are,” Meg jumps up from her seat, extending her hand to Castiel. “C’mon. Get dressed.”

He glares at her.

“Castiel, you _have_ to go. You hardly ever leave your apartment.”

“I leave every day,” he snaps defensively. Sure, Castiel spends an absurd amount of time in his apartment, but he’s no recluse. He enjoys staying home, doing his homework, and reading or watching TV rather than get black-out drunk like Meg and her friends.

“For _classes_ ,” she whines. “Hannah would hate you forever.”

Her hand is still out to him, and he takes it.

* * *

 

The two show up a little late to the party, which is more of a problem for Meg than it is for Castiel. The venue reeks of cigarette smoke, the lights are too dim, and the music is too loud for Castiel’s taste. Meg runs off and joins a small group of girls after wishing Hannah a happy birthday. Castiel, on the other hand, takes a seat at the bar, ordering the plainest beer they have.

There aren’t as many people as Castiel expected. Castiel guessed the party goers were the bar’s only customers, but there were other people sitting in booths to prove him wrong. They’re usually packed on Fridays, but Castiel’s relieved it isn’t, so he decides not to question.

A cheerful yelp comes from behind. “Castiel!” He turns the stool around and is greeted by Hannah smiling brightly, a colorful drink in hand. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders in bouncy curls and her skin was glowing with drunkenness. “I thought you wouldn’t come!”

He gives her an empathetic grin. _I though I wouldn’t come either_ , he thinks.

“Glad I could make it,” Castiel says. “Happy birthday, Hannah,” he adds quickly. The bartender brought over Castiel’s drink. It isn’t the best reason for conversation escape, but it’ll do.  

She smiles in thanks before being pulled off by a group of girls. Castiel fully turns back around and wraps his hand around the glass of beer. It’s cold, and the condensation mixes with the nervous sweat on his palm. He _loathes_ parties.

Castiel is ordering his second beer of the night as a hand claps down onto his shoulder. He whips around, meeting eyes that are too green to be real. At a loss for words, Castiel pores over the man.

His nose and cheeks are dotted with freckles and his lips are full and pink and Castiel can’t seem to look away from them. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

“Hey,” his voice is music to Castiel’s ears. “Y’wanna play pool? Jo over there says girls can beat guys and day. I told ‘er she was wrong. Now I need a teammate.”

Castiel can feel his lips moving, but no words are coming out.

“You have a name, blue-eyes?” The man takes a swig from his bottle of beer.

Butterflies flutter wildly in his stomach at the nickname. “Castiel,” he mutters.

“Dean,” he – Dean – holds out his free hand. Castiel takes it, shaking it firmly as he stands from the stool. “So you’ll play?” Dean is walking back to the pool tables before Castiel can even answer.

“Yes, but,” Castiel sighs as he follows Dean, who’s grabbing two cues from the holder on the all. He hands one to Castiel, turning back to the blonde waiting patiently at the table. “Dean – “

“Ready to lose a bet?” He asks the blonde. She must be Jo.

“Ready to kick your ass, actually,” she grins as she chalks the tip of her cue, turning to a girl beside her and breaking into conversation. Castiel decides he ought to break the news to Dean.

“Dean, I’ve never played pool before,” Castiel admits. He can feel his face burning and he looks down at his hands.

Whatever Dean says to Jo is lost on Castiel, but the next thing he knows is that Dean is pulling him to another unoccupied pool tables out of the four in the bar. This one is farther back in the bar and away from the party crowd.

“Not knowing how to play pool is worse than murder, Cas,” Dean says lightheartedly as he grabs the cube of chalk on the table.

He’s never been called Cas before. The feeling’s just as nauseatingly delightful as ‘blue-eyes’.

Castiel mimics Dean’s actions, taking the chalk from Dean and rubbing it on the smallest end of the cue. Dean grabs the rack and rounds every ball into the frame, pushing the triangle into the middle of the table. He has to lean over the edge of the table to set the balls in the center, and it’s not Castiel’s fault that his eyes gravitate toward Dean’s ass. He snaps out of his trance when Dean stands up straight.

Dean sets the rack aside and pulls a white ball from one of the pockets, placing it a foot from the point of the triangle.

“I’ll shoot first,” Dean says as he bends down, lining his cue with the cue ball.

Castiel should have been watching, but Dean’s ass is _so nice_.

The cue ball cracks against the triangle, dispersing all of the colorful balls across the table. Two solid colors fell into opposite pockets. Dean takes a step back from the table and nods to Castiel.

“Alright, so, m’solid, you’re stripes,” Dean picks up his beer from the edge of the table and drinks. “Simple enough? Take a shot.”

 _This is so embarrassing_ , Castiel thinks as he poorly lines up with the cue ball. He takes a shot, missing his targeted striped ball. He tries again and misses again. Cas takes two more shots before letting out a frustrated sigh. He goes to line up again.

“It’s not simple. My aim is terrible,” Castiel huffs.

“You’re makin’ it complicated, Cas,” Dean grins as he sets his cue down and disappears from Castiel’s vision. He thinks nothing of it and focuses on adjusting his aim but, _oh_ , heat is pressed against Castiel’s body and calloused hands are covering his own. Dean’s chin is rested on Cas’ shoulder, breath hot against Castiel’s ear and there’s just _so much heat_. It’s doing weird things to his midsection, but for now he can brush it aside.

“Y’gotta find the right hold,” Dean’s right hand move’s Castiel’s to gently wrap around the stick. His grip is strong and gentle at the same time and what Castiel would give to feel those hands –

His left hand pushes the stick forward through Castiel’s grip, pulling it out a few seconds later. Dean’s hand works Castiel’s in twisting strokes over the rod. The motions are agonizingly slow and it would take quite a few shots to miss what Dean’s getting at. It’s a creative innuendo that’s _definitely_ affecting Cas.

“And when you do,” Dean stops moving the cue and sets Castiel’s hands in a comfortable position. “Make a tunnel with your pointer and thumb,” Dean positions Castiel’s fingers, resting the side of his hand on the table and his thumb flat against the green fabric. Dean arches Cas’ index finger over the cue. “Y’don’t want it too tight, or else it’s gonna be uncomfortable to shoot. Now line it up,” Dean steadies Castiel’s aim on the center of the white ball.

Cas’ heart is racing as Dean works the stick through his fingers in the same motion as earlier. It’s so fluid and well-practiced and Castiel is having trouble concentrating on Dean’s directions. His body is flush against Cas’ back, his hips rolling against Castiel’s ass with each back and forth movement of hands and, god, the _heat_.

“And with a few steady strokes,” Dean moves his lips closer to Castiel’s ear, the warmth of each word hitting his skin and making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The scent of a little too much alcohol brushes Cas’ nose, but he ignores it. Other things deserve more attention right now. He’s having issues keeping his hands steady and, if it weren’t for Dean, the stick would’ve slipped out of his fingers a millions times already.

Dean forcibly pushes the rod forward, knocking the striped ball into the pocket.

“You’re done,” Dean presses his nose behind Castiel’s ear. Cas shuts his eyes and exhales slowly. He can feel Dean’s smile against his skin.

Soon Dean is pulling away, and so is the oh-so-welcomed heat against Castiel. Without thinking, Castiel lets out a quiet whimper in disapproval. It’s cold, and Castiel is craving Dean’s heat _everywhere_.

Castiel stands looks at Dean, hoping his eyes say as much as his mouth would if he could just _form words_. His tongue feels tied and all Cas can do is wait for Dean to talk. Maybe if he drank a little more of the bar’s best Liquid Courage he wouldn’t be so damn flustered. It is only when Dean moves into Castiel’s personal space that he realizes those green eyes are looking elsewhere.

“The things I wanna do t’you…” Dean says under his breath. Castiel thinks Dean has had enough to drink and he’s just thinking out loud at this point. It’s wrong for Cas to be sober and Dean to be drunk – he’s not thinking straight. It takes all of Castiel to keep from closing the gap between them and tasting Dean’s lips.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers. Dean keeps moving closer and their lips are nearly touching.

Cas can’t. He’d be taking advantage of Dean, even if he isn’t completely shit-faced. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

His thoughts come to a staggering halt when he feels the crush of lips against his own. Dean’s lips move almost desperately against Castiel’s like Cas were a buoy and Dean was drowning.

Dean’s hands are moving everywhere, grasping for something to hold. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, letting his fingers slip below his waistband. Dean’s skin feels hot against Cas’ fingers and he pulls Dean closer in search of more. It addicting and more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol.

“Dean,” Cas mumbles into Dean’s mouth. As much as he’s loving kissing Dean, and _jesus fuck_ is he loving kissing Dean, he’s drunk.

“Cas,” Dean moans back, one hand behind Castiel’s head, keeping their lips sealed together.

“Dean,” Castiel starts again. Dean doesn’t cease, and Castiel nudges Dean’s chest a few times. It gets Dean to back off and give them space to catch their breath.

“Let’s get outta here,” suggests Dean with a sly grin. Castiel would say yes, but…

“You’re drunk, Dean.”

“What? M’fine,” he objects instantly. “Maybe m’tipsy. C’mon, Cas, don’t let my BAC ruin a little fun.”

Castiel laughs, but shakes his head. Even if Dean has his conscience and can make all his own decisions but at _at least_ half the sober-speed, it’s still wrong to take advantage of him. “Sorry, Dean. Can we take a rain check?” Cas asks hopefully. Maybe Dean will understand Cas’ decision when he’s sober.

Dean looks disappointed, but he perks up after the offer of rescheduling their rendezvous. “Yeah, okay. I ought’a take you to dinner first, anyway,” he smiles at Castiel, leaning back in for a terse kiss. Every piece of him wants to chase Dean’s lips, to kiss him until sunrise, but now is definitely not the time.

Unease twists through Castiel’s stomach though. Dean isn’t anything more than buzzed by the drinks he’s had, but Cas wonders if it’s enough for Dean to see these moments with Castiel as nothing but a blur. Or worse: tell Castiel he didn’t mean much of what he said. The thoughts bring a sour taste to his mouth and he wants nothing more than to down the hardest shot on the menu to get rid of it.

After all, Dean could just be acting on the heat of the moment mental process that comes with even the smallest drink.

Numbers are exchanged, Castiel confiscates Dean’s car keys, and the words were out of his mouth before he knew it.

“I’ll drive you home,” Castiel says as he and Dean walk out of the bar, a few other party attendees in tow. Everyone’s leaving either bordering on or completely bashed. Thankfully, most of them lived ten or less blocks away from the bar.

“I ain’t leaving my baby here all night,” Dean walks toward a glimmering black car that Castiel could only assume was his ‘baby’. He grabbed Dean’s shoulder.

“It is unsafe for you to drive. You can get your car in the morning.”

Dean gave him a look that went from angry to pleading to absolutely exhausted in a matter of seconds and Castiel has to tighten his grip on Dean’s shoulder to keep him from stumbling.

Whether or not Dean would agree, Castiel shoves him back to his car, shoving what’s quickly becoming dead weight into the passenger seat. A wave of tiredness hits Castiel hard and all he really wants to do now is get in bed and wrap himself in blankets. Preferably with Dean.

Castiel gets in on the other side, shutting the door and slumping into his seat with a huff. Dean looks like he’s out cold, and how he mumbles in his sleep is more than a little cute and Cas finds it difficult to wipe the stupid grin from his face.

He hates to wake Dean, but he has no clue where the guy lives.

“Dean?” He prods softly. “Dean, I need your address.”

No response. Jeez, he’s _out_. Does he always sleep like this?

“Dean,” he says again and is answered by somewhat-incoherent slurs, but he can make out ‘ _Connection_ ’. Good, it’s the same complex Cas lives in. It makes him wonder how he’s never seen Dean before. It’s pretty small.

They get back to the building in one piece, but Cas is facing another problem: Dean never told him his apartment number. His tired brain makes the executive decision that having Dean spend the night on his couch is easier than waking the rock.

Carrying Dean wedding-style would’ve taken a lot less time, except Dean’s _so much bigger_ than Castiel. He’s not complaining, though. Maybe he is, because having Dean’s arm draped over his shoulders and dragging him through the halls isn’t really Castiel’s idea of a good time.

Dean falls to the couch with a thud as soon as Cas eases his grip. Castiel rolls his shoulders back and goes to his room in search of an extra blanket and returns with a fuzzy throw with some weird tribal pattern on it – probably something Meg had left here once upon a time. He lays it over Dean, but he figured it wouldn’t do too much good since Dean is sprawled out like an octopus.

The urge to kiss Dean’s cheek is overwhelming and Castiel needs to just walk away but he doesn’t because Dean just looks so peaceful and his lips look so soft and Cas’ hands are carding through Dean’s hair and he doesn’t recall telling them to. What makes it worse is when Dean _leans into_ Cas’ touch and it takes every fiber of his being to pull his hand away.

With a yawn, Castiel shuffles back to his bedroom and kicks off his pants. He flops down onto his bed and doesn’t remember falling asleep.

* * *

 

A faint pounding wakes Castiel up and everything is too bright. It takes him a second to adjust as he sits up in bed and flings his legs over the side. Two heavy yawns escape him before he pushes himself out his bedroom door and to the kitchenette. He puts on a pot of coffee and nearly has a heart attack when the bunched up blanket on the couch moves.

Dean. _Right_.

“Coffee?” Cas says, since what else _is_ there to say?

“Hmm?” Dean rubs at his face and blinks disorientation from his eyes. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Castiel pulls out a second mug from the overhead cabinet. “Sleep well?”

“Your couch is crap,” he says nonchalantly. Cas is well aware and he laughs at Dean’s bluntness. “How did _you_ sleep in your _bed_?”

“Well enough.”

Dean nudges the blanket off of him and stands, pulling uncomfortably at his rumpled clothing. The strong smell of the dark roast coffee drifts through the air and Dean inhales deeply. Castiel can’t help but stare.

“Bathroom’s down that hall,” Castiel points in the direction of his bedroom, apparently answering a question Dean hadn’t gotten the chance to ask. He disappears through the archway and Cas opens the fridge, making a disappointed grumble in the back of his throat when he notices there’s barely any creamer left.

He saves it, just in case Dean wants it.

He’s pouring coffee into two mugs when Dean returns a little more fresh-faced than before. His hair is still messy and Castiel finds it endearing, then he remembers he forgot to fix his hair himself and he self-consciously runs his free hand through his hair.

“Creamer?” He asks.

“Please,” Dean replies as he sits down at the small counter.

Castiel grabs the carton of creamer and dumps the last of its contents into Dean’s coffee. He tosses the empty container into the trashcan and hands Dean his coffee.

“Wait, was that the last?” Dean questions before he takes a sip, the lip of the mug resting just below his mouth. It’s distracting and causes Cas to fumble with his answer.

“Yes.”

“Do you want this one? I’m cool with drinking it black,” he sets the mug back down and pushes it closer to Castiel, who shakes his head and brings his cup to his mouth.

“I like black coffee,” Cas takes a sip.

He hates black coffee.

Dean shrugs and sips his own.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while. Castiel finishes his coffee and sets it in the sink. Dean has his hands wrapped around the mug, his mind obviously somewhere else as he stares at the swirling mix of coffee and creamer in his cup.

Castiel won’t admit that he jumped a little when Dean spoke.

“So that rain check,” Dean starts and Castiel gets a pretty bad connotation by the way he says it. But before Castiel could speak out, Dean was talking again.

“Tonight? There’s this – uh – really nice restaurant in town. At least, I heard it was nice. Haven’t gone, so, I thought maybe we could go there? On a – on a date?” his ears are turning bright red and he’s having so much trouble making eye contact and Castiel has to repress his smile. Dean’s more courageous when he’s drunk, but Dean’s shyness is charming and Cas can feel his own blush in his cheeks.

Cas breathes a sigh of relief. So Dean does have further intentions, unlike Castiel’s dread of a one night stand.

“Of course, Dean,” Cas lets his smile break out.

Okay, maybe they did things a little backwards with the whole relationship thing but, hey, neither of them are complaining.


End file.
